


Glass Boys

by OkiAshi



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Bruce Wayne is Bad at Communicating, Bruce Wayne is Bad at Relationships, Damian Wayne Has a Heart, Damian Wayne is Bad at Feelings, Damian Wayne is Nightwing, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Jason Todd Has Issues, Mentions of drugs, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Reverse Robin AU, Street Rat Jason Todd, Tim Drake Angst, he's trying to get better tho, it's gonna be kinda wild fellas, lots of angst but lots of fluff as well, only a little bit though
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:27:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27832984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OkiAshi/pseuds/OkiAshi
Summary: Of course, Jason had to stumble across a dead body.Of course.And obviously, Nightwing has to not trust him when he says that he isn't the murderer. Why would he?To him, Jason's just a twelve-year-old street rat. A dangerous one, at that.And to Jason, the vigilante's some old douche that has tunnel vision.Too bad they'll end up having to work together in order to catch the real killer.
Relationships: Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd & Damian Wayne, Jon Lane Kent & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Damian Wayne
Comments: 1
Kudos: 78





	1. Call Me A Menace

Damian’s dangerously close to punching this child.

He doubts that the police officers watching him behind the two-way mirror would take kindly to that, however, so he clenches his teeth instead. 

He eyes the boy in front of him. 

The files he’d been handed just before step foot into the interrogation room say that the boy’s most likely in his preteens. That, in itself, he’s finding hard to believe. 

The boy seems too small to be any older than nine. He looks too young to have been the getaway driver.

Then again, Damian himself wasn’t particularly tall when he was a preteen, either. It was only when he was well into his late teens, that he’d finally gotten his growth spurt. 

His frown deepens.  _ Now’s not the time to think about the past.  _ He straightens upwards, as much as he can, anyway. His posture’s already impeccable.

“You won’t be able to leave until you begin answering questions.” He says coldly. The boy scoffs.

“You want me to confess. Just say that.” His voice is rough. Jaded. Too jaded for someone so young.

“Fine.” Damian spits out. He narrows his eyes. “Confess.”  
“To a crime I didn’t commit?” The boy asks flippantly. He leans back in his chair, and Damian does have to admit that the ease that he demonstrates is almost admirable. He’s no doubt terrified, but he’s acting as if he’s grown up in this interrogation room.

“There’s no proof that you didn’t do anything.” Damian points out.

The boy smirks. “If that’s your reasoning for bringing in random people, I’m surprised more people aren’t in jail.” The chair tips back a bit too far, but he’s able to recover without a second thought.

Damian gives him a long look. There really is no evidence proving that he stole anything, just like there’s no proof that he didn’t. And that’s the irritating dilemma, right now.

Because Damian has one eyewitness, but the eyewitness himself admitted that he wasn’t completely sure if it was the boy sitting in the chair right now.

In other words, Damian has nothing.

The boy seems to know this, too, because he gives a grin. “Better luck next time, buddy.” He says. The dull fluorescent lights do little to hide the gleam in his eye.

Damian bristles. “Remember who you’re talking to.” He warns, and immediately regrets it. Because the boy’s unbothered- _ of course he is. _

“I’ll do my best." Then the boy's smiles again mischievously. "You’re Batman, right?”


	2. Good Night, Crime Alley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason's definitely not angry.

Jason takes his time to meander around the police station.

He takes two steps a minute, pausing every so often to steal a pen from a handful of absent officers’ desks. It’s like a final fuck you to each and every one of them.

He vaguely wonders if Nightwing has any pens on him. He doesn’t have any pockets, so Jason doesn’t really know where he’d put them,  _ but God, if he did- _

Jason takes one final pen and begins to walk back to the GCPD’s front entrance. Honestly, he wouldn’t feel bad stealing any of Nightwing’s pens, either, even though he’s probably screwed with him a bit too much.

Jason’s never feared as much for his life as he did after he’d made the “You’re Batman, right?” remark.

He’s heard the rumors- specifically the one that Bats don’t kill, but he probably shouldn’t have taken that chance.

He pushes the GCPD’s doors open and walks down the steps. He gives a long sigh, even as he feels the weight begin to lift from his shoulders.

He walks at a normal pace for a few minutes, his hands shoved in his pockets to hide the way that they’ve balled up into fists. 

It’s only after the GCPD’s building is far from sight, that he starts to run.

He sprints, his hood jostling a little behind him as he does so.

He doesn’t stop even as he steps into a puddle, and the water leaks into the tiny hole in his shoe. 

He doesn’t stop, even as he races across a busy road, narrowly dodging cars.

He doesn’t stop, even as his brain tells him that he’s safe. That he doesn’t need to keep running.

Because the streets are never safe at night.

He runs until he can’t anymore. He stops, gasping for breath, the cold October air harsh to his lungs.

When he straightens up again and turns around to look at the alley behind him, he recognizes it. 

“Hello, Crime Alley.” He says softly. His hands, now pulled away from his pockets, find their way back to them again. He fiddles with the pens in his pockets.

His footsteps echo eerily as he makes his way to the fire escape, but he doesn’t mind so much. It’s like there’s actually people here.

The wind catches his hair and ruffles it, and he quickly grabs his hoodie and shoves it over his head. From his peripheral vision, he glimpses the fire escape, the top few rungs illuminated by the lights coming from the buildings across from them. 

Jason makes his way towards it, stepping over the broken beer bottles and discarded napkins, no doubt from the restaurant just outside of the alley. 

His feet squeak against the ladder’s rungs, but it’s sturdy, and he’s able to scale the ladder with ease. 

Midway to the roof, Jason stops. After a quick scan of the alleyway below him, he turns his attention back to the window just to the right of the ladder. Stealthily, he grabs the tab that signals the bottom of the window, then pulls it upwards. 

The apartment from inside is deathly quiet. 

Without a second thought, he steps onto the faded blue windowsill, then crouches. 

He has to lean back a little in order to get his feet into the apartment, which, if he hadn’t been doing this for years now, would have scared him.

As it is, he does this with confidence, and within a few seconds, he’s inside. 

As his feet land onto the creaky old floor, dust flies upwards, dancing around Jason, almost as in greeting.

He waves the dust aside as he shuts the window. Making sure to stay out of the view from anyone who might look into the window, he walks to the end of the dingy room.

After a few seconds, he lets himself slide to the floor, back to the wall. His foot’s numb from the cold.

He glances up at the ceiling from half-closed eyes. Somehow every apartment he’s ever stayed at has the same water stain on the ceiling. It’s like some type of curse or something.

He heaves a giant sigh, beginning to close his eyes. As he does, his hand closes around the switchblade in his pocket. 

But, despite the security of having protection, and the sound of thunder rumbling in the distance, which would usually lull him to sleep, it’s incredibly hard to do so.

He sits there, upright for a few minutes, still waiting for sleep to reach him. When it doesn’t, he lets himself relax a little, laying down on the floor. 

He curls himself into a ball, trying to save his body heat. It’s too early in the year to break out the ratty old blanket he’s had since forever. He only uses it when absolutely necessary.

As he lays there, shivering slightly, his mind wanders back to the police station.

He’s been on and off the streets for years now. During that time, he’s learned how to successfully steal all sorts of things. Nothing big- at least, nothing that would warrant a manhunt. 

Just little things. Things that won’t be missed.

A couple bucks. 

A forgotten jacket.

Pens.

The like.

And after living mostly on the streets for around eight years at this point, he’s never been caught.

He’s never even been questioned.

And, yeah, maybe Jason would be able to feel some relief that he’d “escaped” getting arrested, or whatever.

But the thing is, the thing he got brought in for? 

That was for the theft of a car used for a getaway. A car that he never stole.

And now, as Jason lays on the floor, still wide awake, the familiar anger bubbles deep inside of him.

And the longer he lays there, the more upset he gets.

He rolls over to his side, scowling intensely. 

_ This is so fucking stupid. _

The fact that anyone would think he’s stupid enough to steal-

_ You’re just a street kid, to them.  _ A dark voice in the back of his mind tells him.  _ It doesn’t matter if you did or didn’t do something. As long as you’re remotely suspicious, you’re guilty. _

But he doesn’t even remember being around any cars. At least, not the model that was stolen, which was a Honda Pilot. What would he do with it, anyway? It’s not like he even knows how to drive a car.

He fiddles with one of the drawstrings on his hoodie. 

He knows he shouldn’t be getting this worked up about it.

He’s safe now. And not in jail. 

So that’s a plus.

Still, the anger simmers in him. 

He can’t lay on the floor anymore. For the first time in a while, it’s almost too uncomfortable.

So now he gets up, stalking towards the window. He pushes himself up onto the windowsill, then leans against the cool glass.

It’s started drizzling outside, he realizes. That’s not a surprise, considering that the thunder’s gotten closer. 

Just outside, Jason can see the glow of lights from buildings just outside Crime Alley. The light’s are faint, but reassuring, in a weird way. Not that he’s ever really been scared of the dark. He doubts that he would have been able to survive this long outdoors if he had been.

His eyes begin to shut again, his anger beginning to dim as the rain hits the window. 

_ Whatever. If cops wanna be assholes, let them be assholes. _

With that thought in mind, he’s finally able to get somewhat drowsy. 

He’s actually almost asleep ten minutes later, as well, when something that Nightwing had said right when he’d started interrogating Jason comes back to him.

Jason had been midway through saying that he  _ didn’t steal the fucking car _ , when Nightwing had interupted him like the prick he is.

“Does the description of “black hair, green or blue eyes in his adolescent years” not ring a bell to you?” 

That was probably the one time Nightwing had had the upper hand in the case. Because Jason could hide a bunch of things about himself, but as much as he disguised his voice, it still cracked, making it clear that he was going through puberty. As for his physical appearance, it did match the whole black hair and blue eyes thing.

But plenty of people had black hair and blue eyes in Gotham, as Jason had quickly pointed out. “Hell, even Bruce Wayne or whatever his name is has black hair and blue eyes. They say the guy never ages. He could have made himself look even younger.”  
Nightwing had stared at him for a second, almost taken back. Then he’d spoken up.

“Bruce Wayne is a billionaire. If he wanted a car, especially one that cheap, he would have bought one.”

Jason had given a shrug. “Who knows? Maybe the guy had wanted to release some steam after a hard, hard day of being rich.” At that point, he’d gone back to proving why he couldn't have been the one to steal the car.

He’d been getting dangerously into bitter territory, and the last thing he wanted was giving Nightwing the satisfaction of making him visibly upset.

_ Although it looks like he kinda did that.  _ Jason thinks to himself, once again awake. He stares dully out of the window.  _ He doesn’t know that, though. _

Jason closes his eyes for what seems like the billionth time. 

The thief really could have been anyone, though. Jason’s sure that there’s a bunch of rich kids that want to add to their car collection.

Hell, even if it wasn’t an upper-class kid, he’s still met plenty of people with black hair and blue eyes. 

One of the only kids he knows by name also has black hair and blue eyes. 

_Liam._ _Haven’t seen him in a while._

Jason tenses a little, too tired to open his eyes again. It’s weird. 

He thought he heard Liam talking about doing a big caper.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t have enough time to think about why that’s important. 

Not even a few seconds later, he’s fast asleep.

  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Hey, y'all, *aggressively ignores all the unfinished stories on my account right now*.  
> How's life?  
> That was really cringy, but I'm not gonna do anything about it.  
> In all seriousness, I've made it a goal to update all my stories at least once before the end of the year. I have some chapters prepared, actually. It just has more to do with revising them, which shouldn't take long.  
> Also. I actually have a proper schedule for this story. I know I had a schedule for What'd I Miss? but I'm absolutely shit at keeping it. Hopefully, I'll be able to stick to this one better.  
> So yeah, check-in every Friday (apart from this Friday, because I really wanted to upload this chapter early, lol). Maybe I'll actually be able to stick to it.  
> Alright, see you later:  
> Oki


End file.
